


Lesser Materials

by Brightmoth



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Deathfic, Idiots in Love, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Beta, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 19:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17049278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightmoth/pseuds/Brightmoth
Summary: After Cole's death, Hank Anderson never expected to live as long as he did. A certain android may have had something to do with that.Or: Connor deals with the differences between humans and androids. They just simply aren't made of the same stuff.





	Lesser Materials

Hank Anderson has never been a soft man, so Connor doesn't know why he hasn't noticed it before.

He finds himself in his long-familiar place of the passenger seat of Hank's piece of shit car which he refuses to get rid of, no matter how much the thing clearly just wants to rust in peace. The groans of the engine can just barely be heard over the sound of heavy metal blaring. A smile twitches at Connor's lips as he thinks that Hank hasn't changed a bit since they met, with the sounds of Knights of the Black Death filling the car.

He goes to dare a glance at Hank, but his eyes stop at the steering wheel. Unsure of what caught his attention, he watches Hank's hands as they slap lightly against the wheel to the beat of the music. Something about them is different and for all his processing and computing power, Connor doesn't know why. He doesn't notice when the song ends, he doesn't notice when he's caught staring.

“-nor? Con!”

Brown eyes snap up and they meet Hank's blue ones. He doesn't know how long he's watched or been watched. They're stopped at a red light, and Hank is turned to face him.

“You alright? You zoned out there, that's unlike you.” There's humor and affection written in his expression but Connor's thirium pump feels like it wants to stop cold. For a moment, he doesn't know what to say. He knows he stares at Hank's eyes too long because he can see the humor fall from his face only to turn slightly uncomfortable. He has to say something.

Before Hank can ask what's wrong, seriously this time, he gives him a small smile that he doesn't feel and simply says, “Sorry Hank. I'm alright, just thinking.” It must have been good enough, because Hank nods.

And then the light turns green and the car is moving again. Another song is playing that Connor doesn't hear because his eyes are focused again on hands beating against the steering wheel. So familiar, a scene he's lived hundreds of times before, just the two of them in this old, beaten down car. So why is it different now? He forces himself to tear his eyes away and look out the window, watching as the snow blurs as they drive.

If Hank knows something is wrong, he doesn't say anything as they pull into the driveway. Connor is convinced he must. Even without a scanner of his own, the man has learned to read Connor just as well as Connor can read him. He helps Hank put his coat on the coat rack, then disappears into the house.

For a while Hank watches T.V. but he hardly pays attention to any of it. Connor's absence is profound. Normally the android is sitting right next to him, reading or scouring the internet with his brain.

 _'Lucky bastard,'_ Hank can't help but think warmly.

Without Connor there, the house is too quiet. He turns off the T.V. and the silence follows him. He walks past the kitchen, taking care to avoid looking at Sumo's dog bowl still untouched in its old place in the corner. How long has it been now and still Hank hasn't been able to force himself to throw it away. Hank has never been good at letting go.

When he finds Connor, it isn't what he's expecting. He's in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. It isn't the first time Hank has caught Connor looking at his own reflection. Hell, on the first night they met, the android had barged right into that bar, scanning faces left and right. Hank had watched out of the corner of his eye, stooped over his drink, as Connor had moved through the building, eventually heading towards the bathrooms. Through the swinging doors, Hank could see Connor looking at himself briefly in the mirror, adjusting his tie and shirt. At the time, Connor hadn't been able to feel any sort of emotion, but he could have sworn that fucker was arrogant.

After his deviancy, Connor would start to look at himself in mirrors again. But any hint of pride was long gone. Hank thought during these times that Connor seemed lost, and thought that maybe if he stared long enough his own reflection would give him the answer, tell him who he was supposed to be. Hank knows Connor never fully got his answer.

But that had been a long time ago. He hasn't seen Connor like this in what feels like a lifetime. He stands a little to the side, watching what Connor does. The android lifts his hand to his face, touching his cheek lightly. He turns, and his skin disappears to reveal his pure white chassis underneath. He rubs at it for a moment before his skin reactivates. The only thing setting him apart now from a real human is the blinking LED. It doesn't go unnoticed that its color is yellow. Connor begins circling the shape of the LED with his finger when Hank finally decides to step into the bathroom.

Connor's eyes lazily shift up to meet his in the mirror. He doesn't look particularly surprised to see him.

“You never told me why you wanted to keep it.” Hank says simply, breaching delicate territory.

After the revolution, androids were no longer required to bear any distinguishing features marking them as such, be it on their clothing or their LEDs. Many androids had chosen to remove theirs, but it seemed like just as many had kept them. Each had their own reasons for their decision, but Connor had never told him his. Something about it seemed... personal. Hank had never asked, figuring Connor would tell him in his own time if he was ever ready. But his behavior in the car and his sudden return to old habits had Hank concerned.

Physically, Connor was still so young. Hank had had decades to come to terms with his emotions and his place in the world and he was still shit at it. Adjustment to his newfound deviancy hadn't always been easy for Connor. Lord knew this shit took lifetimes and more to figure out.

Connor looked thoughtful, and met Hank's eyes in the mirror.

“Markus has spent so long trying to prove to the world we're just as human as them.” His lips turned to a thin line. “But we're just _not._ ”

“Connor...” Hank began in a soft voice like he was speaking to a child.

“Don't misunderstand me, Hank. Androids are alive. _I'm_ alive. I know what I feel is real. But I'm not _human._ I never will be. And that's okay.”

Isn't it?

“What's brought this on, Con?”

Connor's hand fell from his temple. It spun yellow once, then a calm blue. He doesn't answer and there's silence for a while.

“Shit,” Hank finally puts his hand on Connor's shoulder and squeezes. “You figure something out, you let me know. Lord knows you have a better chance at finding the meaning of life than me.” He means it, and turns to the hallway. “But right now, I'm starving.”

The first few times they had ever eaten dinner together - _“Like a proper family, dammit,”_ \- Hank had set a place at the table for Connor – plate, glass, silverware and all. He'd even portioned out some food for him, useless as it was. He'd wanted Connor to feel like he belonged. But it seemed to embarrass the android, and he'd stopped shortly after. For a while after that, he still set a place at the table for him, even if it meant a little more work gathering up the clean dishware. Over time, Connor insisted the hassle was unnecessary, so he stopped that too. The one thing he refused to stop, however, was eating together. Or, at least sitting together while Hank ate.

When Connor emerged from the bathroom, he heard Hank already on the phone and he groaned, walking into the living room.

“Hank, please don't order take out, let me make you something.” His worries from the afternoon seemed forgotten. Even as he spoke, he began to head to the kitchen, they had fresh groceries left after all! But Hank cut him off and waved him away.

“Nah, you just relax, Con. Besides! I've been good, I ate my greens you heathen.” Connor couldn't find it in him to say no to Hank's grin. Well, he supposes Hank _has_ been eating much more healthy lately. Mostly because Connor insists he cook better meals for him. It's good for Hank, and it gives something Connor to do outside of work. He's already read every book in Hank's house, and many more directly from the internet. Connor relents, and tries not to laugh at Hank's victory whoop.

The takeout comes twenty minutes later, and they find themselves at the dinner table. Hank's stuffing his face with sweet and sour chicken and Connor is lightly sipping from a glass of thirium. Snow is falling heavily outside and although he doesn't need it to stay warm, Connor is dressed in dark wash jeans and a black turtleneck.

Work has been hard on Hank lately, and not long after dinner he finds himself groggily watching T.V. on the couch. This time, Connor's next to him, right where he should be. Connor can tell the moment Hank falls asleep. He should have made him move to the bed, it would be better for his back, but he didn't have the heart to make him get up. Connor turns off the television and gently lowers a blanket over Hank. Connor stops again just like he did in the car. The room is dark, the only light is coming from his LED. It's yellow. He doesn't need any light to see perfectly in the dark and he studies Hank's face as he sleeps.

That's when Connor sees it, what was different. He finally sees what he was looking for in Hank's hands on the steering wheel, his eyes as he looked at him in the mirror. He sees what he didn't see in his own face, even after all these years.

When had Hank become so old?

The way his eyes crinkle at the edges, the curve of his mouth nearly hidden under his too-white beard. Why hadn't he noticed those wrinkles before, the age spots that are now suddenly so striking, splattering lightly across his skin? The last thing he thinks before he forces his eyes away is that Hank's skin looks like the old paper of his books.

Connor never knew Hank as a young man, but even when they met, broken as he was, Hank had never looked so fragile. There was a light to his eyes now that Connor adored, a light that hadn't been there before. The loss of his son had taken it from him. Somehow, _somehow_ Connor had managed to find a way to give it back. But that light was surrounded by a fading body. _How_ could he have never seen it before?

As he sat back against the couch, in the same position in the room that it has always been, Connor was overcome with a need to hold Hank. To cradle him against his chest and never let go.

He doesn't. As badly as he wishes to, he hugs a pillow to his chest instead to try to ease the ache. It doesn't help. There's a weight there, he feels how heavy it is. When he was new to deviancy, this weight would scare him. He'd run diagnostic after diagnostic trying to find out what was wrong with him. He'd come to learn, in time, nothing was wrong. It was just another part of the multi-faceted beast called _humanity._ It was the part he hated the most.

He wishes he had something to distract himself but he doesn't want to watch T.V. or clean or look over case files. Instead, he does something he hasn't for a long time. He accesses his memory banks and digs deep. He finds what he's looking for in a matter of moments.

 

        NOV 5TH, 2038

        TIME PM 11:21:06

 

Re-watching his own memory as perfectly as a movie, only now does Connor realize he must have lost that coin he sees flipping through his hand years ago. He walks through Jimmy's bar, ignoring hateful glances and comments alike. After the first few facial scans, he can already tell who Hank is without having to run him through the database. Still, the RK800 is nothing if not thorough. He scans every face before rounding back, standing in front of the man who couldn't have hated his guts more, and would one day, impossibly, become the most important thing in the world.

“ _Lieutenant Anderson, my name is Connor. I'm the android sent by CyberLife.”_

His voice module has never been changed, so how is it possible he sounds so different to his own ears.

When Hank in the memory lifts his head, Connor loses breath that he doesn't have.

Connor never knew Hank as a young man, but the difference is heart wrenching. He lets their first memory together play out, letting himself smile as he remembers spilling Hank's drink all over the floor.

Then, he fast-forwards to earlier today. He knows he has just skipped through _decades_ of memory.

“ _You alright? You zoned out there, that's unlike you.”_

The way those eyes look at him now, compared to then. That's night and day too. He wouldn't trade that look for the world. Connor shuts off the memory, staring at his hands. Smooth, still _perfect_. Untouched by time. It's then he realizes that he's losing Hank. He can't grow old with him. Not being human is okay, he had said. So why does it feel so horribly not okay?

Connor gets up from the couch and goes silently into the kitchen. He sits down on the floor right next to Sumo's bowl, folds his arms around his knees and cries.

 


End file.
